The Black Adder and The Vile Lorde of the Rings
by Gabriel Syme
Summary: I always imagined what it woud be like to contrast and to place the Black Adder, who satirized Medieval Englad, and place him in Tolkien's Middle Earth. As such, this story was invented. Just a spare thought that came to my mind. Do r & r !
1. Prologue: Frodo goes Forth

~ 

Dedicated to the genius of Rowan Atkinson and J.R.R. Tolkien 

~ 

The year is 3019, Shire Reckoning. 

The evil lord Sauron had laid his eyes, once again, on Middle Earth, and in a fit of revenge, conspires to retrieve the one Ring that belongs to him. 

Out of the Darkness, a number of heroes rose, to raise a fellowship, dedicated to destroying the One Ring, with each hero representing a certain race. 

However, on the side of Humans, Middle-Earth may seem doomed. 

For in this story, they do not have, Aragorn, alias Strider, son of Gondor. 

They have Edmund, alias Black Adder, son of Gondor.

~ 

Ye Grande Tale of Black Adder and The Vile Lorde of the Rings 

otherwise known as 

Black Adder buggers of some Hobbits 

~ 

*play the merry theme song of the Black Adder !* 

The sound of hoof beats 'cross the glade. 

Good foe, lock up your son and daughter. 

Beware the deadly flashing blade, 

Unless you want to end up slaughtered. 

Black Adder, Black Adder. He rides a pitch black steed. 

Black Adder, Black Adder. He's very fair indeed. 

Black. His gloves of finest wool. 

Black. His codpiece made of metal. 

His horse is blacker than a hole. 

His pot is blacker than his kettle. 

Black Adder, Black Adder. With many an cunning plan. 

Black Adder, Black Adder. you are a little man 

~

Prologue: The Finding of the One Ring 

AKA 

Frodo Goes forth 

~ 

Three rings for the elven kings under the sky, 

seven for the dwarf lords in their halls of stone, 

nine for Mortal men doomed to die, 

One for the Dark Lord on his throne, 

In the Land of.... 

"Hey, narrator, get on with the bloody story !" 

Sorry. 

~ 

2189, Shire Reckoning 

"Bugger it ! I'm loss in a stinking cave and the hair on my feet are covered in slime ! Bloody cae... eh ? What's this ?" 

A gentlemanly hobbit, by some, pure, unknown chance, came across the most lethal artifact in all Middle-Earth. 

"Now what sort of sod would throw away, or lose such a special ring..." 

(some time later) 

"WHat have I got in my pockets ?" 

"(gollum) Unfair !' 

"Never mind you blinking bastard, what do I have in my pockets ?" 

And with that, he sharpened his sword, sting, using a rock he found nearby. 

"Hands !" 

"No, you bloody fool ! What do you think I'm sharpening my blade with ? Feet ?" 

"Umm... handkerchief !" 

"Oh damn, now I remember that I should have brought that before I got myself in this bloody adventure ! My nose is filled with snot !" 

"Um.. strings, or nothing.." 

"What are you, daft ? What sort of fool would carry string around, you fish-eating, pus-filled cretin ? And, what makes you think I have nothing ?" 

"Oh sod it. There ! Now, leave." 

As Gollum went back, Bilbo was walking slowly when he heard a cry behind him. 

"Precious ! The bastard stole my precious !" 

Bilbo realized it was high time he buggered off, quickly. 

~ 

3019, Shire Reckoning 

In the (pathetic) town of Hobbiton 

~ 

"There's one last test..." 

"You sod ! That was my birthday present !" 

"Shut up, fool !" 

As Gandalf took out the tongs, Frodo eyed the Ring. 

"What am I supposed to do now: gape in awe at some weird flaming letters appearing on a 

ring ?" 

"Umm.. yes." 

"I can't read it." 

"Well, according to my knowledge, it should read, in the common tongue: 

One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them." 

Silence filled the room. 

"Cut out the bleeding melodrama and tell me what that nonsensical prose was supposed to mean." 

~


	2. The Black Adder and his Devious plan

Chapter 1 : The Black Adder, and his Devious Plan 

~ 

The Prancing Pony. 

Property of Barliman. 

"Finest inn in all Middle-Earth !" "Come and delight yourselves !" 

Rot. 

For this "fine" inn is in actuality a pathetic excuse for a pub, with a number of common folk doing nothing but wasting away their lives with fermented plant beverages in cheap mugs, and some idle brainless chatter, and with more fermented drink, and then more chatter, and so on ad nauseam. 

This is hardly the romanticized inn, where adventurers would go to brag of their exploits, when it truth, they may have just buggered off. Such inns are fictitious: no adventurer would waste his bloody time in an inn. He's rather be at some guild, honing his skills. 

No, an EX-adventurer would be in an inn, drowning of his sorrows of a pathetic hunt. For, in the codes of the warrior, you either succeed, and be rich, and be more likely to be in a manor than in an inn, or end up meat fit for dogs and orcs, in the silky traps of the venomous Giant Spiders of the land, and have no chance at all to be in an inn unless some pathetic scoundrel, with obviously no taste in humour, wishes to parade around his grotesque findings in a town. If so, the inn is possibly the last place. 

Apologies. There WAS one adventurer in this inn. 

Or rather, three. 

The first was a dim-witted imbecile, a rather tall imbecile, who always tried his best to please his master, but failed miserably in doing so. 

The shorter of the trio was a bit smarter, and always coming up with ideas. Except that these ideas were half-baked and never worked. As thus, he was no better off than the former. 

And finally, there was an adventurer of sorts, the heir to Gondor, Edmund Elendil, known to others as the bugg...ooops, ranger, the "Black Adder". Cunning is he ! Beware his deadly flashing blade ! Or at least his mouth ! No one can survive his blade, lest his impervious mouth !

As suited to his name, he was dressed in black. He wore a ridiculous hat, a hood of a sort. Below that was dark brown hair with dark brown eyes, a rather modest face, but a very immodest mouth, lips flaring with lethal words. He never wore armour: rather, he wore a black overcoat, perfect for lurking about and shrouding him from the nonsense surrounding him. Below that was a brown vest, covering an old, sweaty, shirt, stinking with the toil of continuous trekking. Below all that were a pair of black pants, with a black codpiece protecting his vital assets. Lastly, he did not wear black boots, but black shoes, these shoes being the shoes of the nobility.

And so, there the way, the three, Edmund, and his counterparts: Percy Percy, and Baldrick, son of Robin the Dung-gatherer. They were gathering together, for an important reason. 

"Now, according to that fat old bastard Gandalf, it seems to be that the heirloom of my fam..." 

"You mean the Sword that Was Broken ?" 

"No, you nitwit. As I saying, the heirloom of..." 

"Oh, you mean that jewel.." 

"Not that either, cretin. As I was going to say..." 

"Not then you Handkerchief of +1 Excellence ?" 

"Shut up you blumbering bastard ! I'm talking here !" 

Edmund then resumed his speech. 

"As I was saying, the One Ring has been found." 

"Good heavens ! I have a cunning plan !" 

"Oh yes: and what may it be ?" 

"We shall take the ring, and throw it into the fires of Mt. Doom !" 

Edmund took one good long stare at Baldrick. 

"Baldrick, as much as I hate to say this, someone has already taken the job. Well, not yet, but, unless I'm half-arsed , that dickhead by the name of Frodo Baggins, though he may be a puny cretin, is the only pathetic creature capable of tossing the one ring into the bowels of Mt. Doom. Another typical story." 

"Well, if so... what are you saying, milord ?" 

"I have a cunning plan." 

~ 

The three crowded round together, as they heard the plan. 

" In a few days from now, there will be a meeting at Rivendell, where Elrond will dictate the fate of the ring. I can bet my arse that the hobbit known as Baggins would be taking the ring." 

"So ?" 

"We are going to steal it from him. And, once I have this ring, I shall install myself, rightfully, as King of Middle Earth, and vanquish Saruman and Sauron on my own !" 

"That's evil, Edmund !" 

"Sod it. My name will cause... TYRANNY ! HATE ! FEAR ! ANGER !" 

Edmund shouted the last four words aloud, in a blooming manner, and soon, curious eyes were abound, wondering where such an embarrassingly loud voice could be heard from. 

"Umm....Merry drinking to you all !" 

And the crowd hailed their drinks to Edmund, though, behind their backs, they were saying, rather quietly: 

"What a stupid ass." 

~


	3. The Sign of the Smelly Arse

Chapter 2 : At the Sign of the Smelly Arse

~

Edmund was slightly put off by the fact that he, unwittingly, embarrassed himself in front of a whole host of people.

"Drat this nonsense again. Must remind myself: do not make an arse of one's self in public."

"Anyway, Edmund: whom are we waiting for here ?"

"Let's see: four miserable short buggers, one being that horrendous cretin called Baggins, the other his gardener, and the last two being expendables."

"Well, if that's so, then, don't you think that lot down there are who we're looking for ?"

Edmund shifted his head to the direction that Baldrick was pointing at, and, true enough, there was the sight of four, relatively short people. They were, of course, in cloaks, the reason, being quite obvious, at least to Edmund, who found it pitiful.

"Not that is just plain stupid. They're the only lot of short people in this damned inn, trying to cover themselves up wouldn't bloody well help at all."

"But Edmund, surely there must be other hobbits…"

"Unless my nose is filled with dog's snot, there's no bleeding chance that a hobbit, dwarf, gnome or whatever would lend his blood backside in this downright pathetic in.. Why, even the elves shun this place. This inn is only for bums, drunks, and lousy adventurers…."

"Alright, alright…. But, what do we do now ?"

"Let's see: Gandalf wanted us to track down "Mr. Underhill" and his gang, which is what we a re to do now."

"But, if that's the case, then… why re we sitting down here and still drinking ale ?"

"That's the thing, my dear Percy: you have to have a keen eye. You must use observation, strike in at the right moment ! Let's just wait…"

~

"Well, Frodo, here we are. Gandalf asked us to meet a man called Barliman…"

"I suppose. Can't believe this dreadful s*it. One moment, I was resting my wonderful fat arse upon inheriting the couch that my uncle used to rest his fat arse on, and, the next moment, I'm down here, carrying about some ring that can literally screw us all up."

"Oh, cheer up Frodo ! Here, have a beer…"

Scruffy hands, filled with the soil of diseased plants, offered Frodo a hole ridden mug, filled to the brim with a foaming, foul smelling fluid.

"Samwise, get that bloody filth out of my face."

Pippin and Merry were now thinking of something to cheer the grumpy fart.

"I know ! Let's all dance !"

Out of nowhere, a foreign hand made a grab at one of Frodo's hands, and, in a forceful gesture, made him do an unspeakable act.

"Pippin, you bloody idiot ! I do not want to dance…."

Just as Frodo said this, he pulled his hands away from Pippin, and placed both of his hands in his pockets.

"I'm bloody well…"

However, Frodo never finished his sentence.

For, in one, smooth, sliding motion, the ring, that had laid dormant for so long, slipped onto his middle finger.

~

"Edmund…"

"What is it now Percy ?"

"Have you ever seen a fellow just turn into thin air ?"

"Well, I did see Gandalf once turn the homosexual that tried to advance on…"

"No, no, no, I mean, as in: he made himself into thin.."

"Wait a minute."

Edmund took a deep breath, and recollected his thoughts, before emptying, completely, the pint of ale that his hands never touched.

"Now's the time."

Edmund got up, and left both Baldrick and Percy, who were flabbergasted by their friend's sudden movement, as he scoured the inn for the erroneous hobbit.

"What's got into him ?"

"Ah, just drink your ale."

~

Frodo did not realise he had turned into thin air.

"Now, what's all this, why are these bastards all staring at me… oh good lord ! I can't see my d**k !"

And, true enough, not only his clothes, his entire being was completely invisible, even to his own eye.

As Frodo moved around, he took one good look back, and realised that the audience were still staring at the thin piece of air. Of course, there can never be a piece of air, but, some short lad had, suddenly, been vaporised, into air, and the crowd was still staring at what they thought to be were the remains of a young hobbit.

Frodo then had a plan.

~  


"Behold, ladies and gentleman, boys, girls, eunuchs and the like: I am here !"

And true enough, Frodo reappeared, at the entrance of the inn.

"What you have just seen is the incredible disappearing act of the great Frodo, travelling Hobbit Magician !"  


The crowd gave a loud applause, and resumed their drinking, resuming their own private affairs.

As Frodo felt smug at his own personal victory, a black hand reached out to grab him from behind.

~


	4. First Impressions

Chapter 4: First Impressions

~

Within a few moments, Frodo found himself far removed from the hustle and bustle of the nearby inn. He was no longer surrounded by the mob of pathetic ale drinkers and miserable adventurers. Now, he was in a more comfortable are: a bedroom, within the inn.

For a moment, the room started to remind Frodo of his times back in Hobbiton. Though the ceiling was, of course, higher than that of the usual hobbit hole, it did have all the requirements of a proper hobbit dwelling establishment: big, comfortable beds, furniture, an adequate fireplace, though unlit at this juncture, a proper cabinet, and of course, pipes and ashtrays, as hobbits were filthy smokers.

As the large stranger placed him down, Frodo took one good look at the man who snatched him by the collar. He was a black haired individual, cut short, with lighter brown, hazel eyes. His eyebrows were neither thick and bushy, nor thin and straight, but a steady median between the two. He bore the look, not of a hero, or of a fool, but of one of the most dangerous types of people in all existence: a cynic. He was baring his teeth,as he looked on, half in disgust, at the sight before him, his shirt sweaty, his rustic cloak rusty, and his boots all worn.

"I presume you had a lovely time making a fool of yourself, Mr. Underhill...."

"What in blazes are you going to do to me ?"

"I was thinking of buttering your arse but I'm sorely lacking in butter. Anyway, what on earth were you thinking, you stupid ape. Putting on that bloody ring in public..."

"Look, you faggot, it was an acci..."

"Oh, everything is a bloody accident. Like me buttering your arse would be an accident itself !

Now listen carefully: I know full well about hobbits disappearing in public, but, to magically disappear in front of an audience, that's quite a different feat !

Now, what do you have to say for yourself, you little midget ?"

Frodo decided to remain silent. A defiant type of silence, defiant in the face of adversity.

"Oh yes, make me look like the villain."

As Edmund said this, a knock came on the door. Edmund reached for his sheath, and waited patiently.

False alarm. It was only Percy and Baldrick.

Though Percy was caring a rather large bag on his back.

One that was moving very violently.

"Well, since you bagged one..."

"Oh very funny Percy: "Bagged". Now get those animals out before you suffocate them."

~

"Now listen carefully you lot: you have cause a substantial amount of trouble at this time of the night, and by right. So, I suggest that you all get a good night's rest, as we are going to have a *marvelous* adventure through the woods tomorrow."

~

As the little hobbits lay comfortably in bed, their large mouths snoring ridiculously loudly and with their feet left bare, Edmund, Percy and Baldrick stayed awake, close to the window. The smell of the hobbits feet wafted, by some unknown force, to the nostrils of the three men's noses, perhaps a reason why the three chose to stay awake at this time of the night.

"Looks like we finally have the Ringbearer now Edmund."

"Indeed we do. But that's only the first part of our plan...''

"There is a plan ?"

"Yes Percy. Now shut up."

"Anyway, Edmund, I notice that the sword sheath on your right is much shorter and fatter. What sort of dagger are you wielding ?"

"Ah Baldrick ! It is not a dagger !"

And with that, Edmund reached to the sheath on his left. The handle of the weapon, as Baldrick noticed earlier, was distinctly unique, as it was curved in a manner which would allow the weapon to be pointed, not horizontally, but vertically. It was a handle, similar o that of some dagger's he had seen, but it was thicker and fatter, luck as thought it was more of a support than a handle of an actual weapon.

And Edmund revealed the weapon. It was not a dagger, not a blade of any kind. It was.... he was quite unsure as to what it was. The handle of the weapon was a long stick, which was attached to a pipe at the end. There were a few elaborate mechanisms on the weapon which Baldrick found incredibly foreign to him. Baldrick could only think of one possibility as to the actual use of the weapon.

"Edmund, please don't tell me that is a clyster pipe...."

"No you nitwit. Though that would be more efficient, it would take too long, and I can't really be bothered to pull down the pants of all my enemies.

No Baldrick.: This here is the future of weaponry in all Middle Earth. Forget swords, knives, hammers or even the bow: THIS is the definitive weapon of the season.

This weapon here uses the Fire of Orthanc, and was a gift from Saruman to me a while back. As you know, Saruman created that explosive mixture, and now, I have it's secrets, all in this little device.

Watch. I insert powder in the pipe here, then place a small pellet. Then, I simply have to pull the trigger here, like I would to a crossbow, and, poof !, I win."

"Incredible !"

"Yes it is, but, I do not have enough of this magic powder that Saruman gave me. I need to get a bit more of from his as soon as I can. As far as we know, Isengard is still safe territory, so I'll journey there tomorrow. You two escort the hobbits as we earlier planned. Then, I will catch up with you along the road to Rivendell."

"As you command, Edmund."

Good. And you Percy ?"

"Same here, though I have to admit: that's one clever use of a clyster pipe there..."

~


End file.
